


Faith, Hope, and Love

by KaelsMiscellany



Series: Beggar the Heart and Make it Crawl [3]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Background OT3 - Freeform, Gen, Next Generation, Teenagers, being teenagers, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: A day in the lives of their Royal Highnesses, prince Konstantin, and the princesses Rasia and Stanislava.





	Faith, Hope, and Love

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the sequel I _meant_ to write. *laughs* Hope you all enjoy these kids, I definitely do.
> 
> Title again from the same quote.

“Hurry up!” Konstantin hisses at Igor. Turning his head he looks around them. They’re still alone in the Corporalki morgue for now, but it’s only a matter of time before someone comes in, then this whole endeavor will end in disappointed teachers.

Igor’s shoulders hunch, and Konstantin can see his dark fingers fumble the lockpicks. “I’d like to see you do better, _moi tsarevich_.” Igor’s fairly smart, a decent Durast, and an excellent kisser; but honestly, he’s also a bit of a podge.

Rolling his eyes Konstantin nudges Igor aside with his hip. “Give them here.” Before Igor can really protest he’s taken the lockpicks from unresisting fingers and put them in the lock. He slows his breathing, working the picks gently, doing his best to feel the little tells. Be better if he could _hear_ them, but that’s not exactly possible at the moment.

About a minute later the lock finally clicks, and Konstantin flashes Igor a smile. “And now you’ve seen me do better.” Father and uncle Sasha encouraged unusual skills, one never knew what might come in handy in life after all.

“Ass,” Igor mutters. Not entirely fair.

Pocketing the picks Konstantin reaches out for the handle, eager to open it and see whatever body might be lying inside.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” a familiar young voice says behind them.

Igor yelps and whirls around. Konstantin sighs and turns to see his little sister, in her red and pale green kefta, and her wolf in the doorway. Probably only a little better than being found out by a teacher. “Been in lots of places I’m not supposed to be Stasya, shoo.”

She rolls her gray eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she repeats, sounding about as firm as a seven year old can. “Anyways if you opened that, Old Pyotr,” she points at an empty corner. “Would get mad, the last people who tried to look at the bodies who weren’t supposed to had nightmares for _weeks_.”

Trembling slightly Igor fingers the ring that is his amplifier. “A _ghost_?” He sounds almost horrified by the idea. “You didn’t say anything about a ghost, Konstantin.” Before he can think to argue, Igor’s gone, hurrying away as if being chased by demons. Podge.

Fun basically ruined Konstantin sighs. “Did you have to scare him?”

“It’s his fault for believing me,” she answers simply.

Which earns a bark of laughter. “So there isn’t even a ghost?” Stasya sometimes didn’t do well around people, but he has to admit that’d been a pretty good lie.

She shrugs, weaving her fingers into pale gray fur—both he and Raya were a little jealous she was the only one allowed to have her wolf on the grounds of the Little Palace. “There’s a cold spot there, and sometimes it says ‘hello’ to me, there are a lot of cold spots in the Little Palace though.” She shrugs again. “There aren’t any bodies here anyways, we did autopsies today.”

“Now you tell me brat,” he says as he walks up to her. If she were Raya he’d probably give her a little shove. Stasya’s not one for that however, so he nudges her foot with his own. “Why’re you here anyways?” She certainly hadn’t just stumbled upon them.

“You missed lunch,” she starts walking, heading towards the main doors. “Time for us to have lessons.”

Konstantin bites back a groan. He _enjoyed_ the classes here at the Palace, but _lessons_ were a whole other matter. He knew he’d likely be king some day, but learning all the things he needed to know to _be_ king was boring. At least compared to learning how to mix things, or arguing about chemicals with his classmates.

He keeps pace with Stasya easily. “Were the autopsies fun?” He likes being an Alkemi, but being a Corporalki _did_ mean you got see all sorts of wonderfully disgusting things.

“Interesting,” she counters. “Although it _was_ fun to see everyone scream when I made the body sit upright. Even if Feydor got mad at me for it.”

He grins, his sister might be weird, but she certainly knew how to have a bit of fun.

They pass a group of Corporalki, probably around his age, who frown at him. Yet with Stasya with him they say nothing. Her wolf does make a low rumbling sound, which earns him a tug on the ear. “Hush, Malenchki.” The students hurry on their way, casting looks at Stasya that raise Konstantin own hackles. She’s as oblivious to them as always though.

“Do we need to get Raya?” Not likely, but Konstantin wants to distract himself. Knowing Raya she’s already at the Grand Palace, impatiently waiting for them. Unlike him she enjoyed lessons as much as she enjoyed learning how to be a Squaller. Maybe there was some way for him to just step down and let her become queen, she’d do quite a lot better than he would at the job most likely.

“She was at lunch,” Stasya answers. “The whispers told me to find you though, so I don’t know where she is now.”

“Ah.” It’s probably a good thing she did come and find him, otherwise he would’ve been much later to lessons. Which would certainly earn him a lecture from _madrya_. Never a fun thing, for any of them—although he’d had the most out of all of them, Raya too good at not getting caught, and Stasya just not getting into as much trouble.

Finally they exit the Corporalki area, the amount of Grisha around them growing as they made their way towards the Golden Dome. More than a few try to stop him and pull him into some conversation or another, but he only smiles and moves to catch up with Stasya, who doesn’t seem to notice when he’s pulled away—or perhaps she knows he’ll catch up.

Once they were in the Hall of the Golden Dome it becomes oddly easier to avoid people on their way to the entrance—they could technically go through _madyra’s_ rooms and the exit that way, but that’s always more of a hassle.

Outside the early winter air burns his lungs, plumes of vapor trailing behind him. It isn’t snowing yet, but it likely would soon. Stasya purses her lips and exhales slowly, seemingly enchanted by the action. “We’re dragons,” she tells him in low tones, like it’s a secret.

“Maybe you are,” he agrees. “I’m just a boy who’d rather have his nose in a chemical set.”

The comment earns him a shrug. Next to her Malenchki’s ears perk up as they travel through the path of quince trees. A few seconds later he’s bounding ahead, barking.

His calls are answered and Konstantin can’t help the smile on his face as Anastasia and Shadow appear. Anastasia rushes to him and nearly bowls him over. Laughing he knees down and buries his fingers in her fur, letting her lick his face. “Miss me that much, huh?”

Malenchki returns to Stasya’s side, but Shadow races ahead, then back, giving about as pointed a look as a wolf could. “Shadow,” Raya’s voice comes from the far end of the path. “Come.” He bounds away.

Konstantin extracts himself from Anastasia and the four of them finally pass from the grounds of the Little Place to the Grand Palace. Raya’s not tapping her foot, but only because it would be unbecoming of a princess. “Took your time.”

“Kostya was trying to do an uninteresting thing with Igor,” Stasya answers.

Raya arches an eyebrow as she falls into step with them. “Igor’s a podge.”

He rolls his eyes, although he can feel his cheeks pinking some. “So happy to know you don’t approve.” Granted, she has better taste in men than he does, so really it says something that she doesn’t like Igor. Nevermind that she’s echoing his own, earlier, thought.

“If you two are just going to talk about gross things I’m taking the wolves and going on ahead,” Stasya says primly.

Raya shares his look. But neither of them say anything more as they make their way towards the main entrance. The guards bow at them, and some of the maids who aren’t distracted curtsy. All three of them notice, but they just keep going, it’s nothing new after all.

They almost run into uncle Sasha in a hallway, the man appearing only mildly ruffled by the whole thing.

“Papa!” Stasya wraps herself around his legs for a few seconds, before retreating to Malenchki.

“There you are. And hello, Stasya,” warmth fills his voice. “Your mother wants to see you all before lessons.” Before any of them can say anything he turns and starts walking, clearly intending for them to follow.

She might be the shortest, but Stasya catches up first, chatting eagerly with her father about her day in the Little Palace. He listens with the same attention he gives most things, asking the occasional question. Like with the servants it’s just something Kostya’s used to seeing. The second most powerful man in Ravka, interested in the conversation of a child.

But uncle Sasha’s always had time for them, even when their parents didn’t. Which was always comforting as a child, knowing there was an adult who would listen, no matter what the situation might be. Perhaps he wasn’t as nice as _madrya_ or as joking as father, but he did love them too.

He leads them to the conservatory, the air warm enough that Konstantin’s wool kefta is a little uncomfortable. Raya swirls her fingers gently and a breeze dances around them, a welcome relief.

 _Madrya_ sits next to a pool, somehow she’d hauled a desk in here and her graceful fingers move through the papers scattered about, clearly seeking something out.

“Alina.”

She looks up, abandoning her search with a smile. “Sasha, _varobushek_.” She opens her arms and the three of them flood her with hugs. Stasya retreats first as always, but soon enough they’ve all pulled away.

“Stasya, Kostya, you two can go onto your lessons, your father and I will see you at dinner.” Her brown eyes move to Raya. “Raya, I do believe we need to have a word.”

“Better you than me,” Konstantin mutters to her.

Which earns him a heel to his foot, the pain enough to make him hiss.

“Rasia,” _madrya_ sighs.

Konstantin decides excuses himself before anything else happens.

-

Rasia doesn’t fidget, although the urge is there. She only takes a seat, doing her best to get out the nervous energy by arranging her kefta, and keeping up the breeze that’s keeping her cool. Unlike Kostya she hasn’t done anything that their parents would be mad about recently. But the fact that uncle Sasha remains is telling enough.

“What is it, _madrya_?”

 _Madrya_ sighs, rearranging papers—Rasia’s urges are not just her own. “We’ve heard some...worrying things from your teachers.”

A frown crosses Rasia’s face. Her teachers? The idea is baffling, she’s a perfect student, she knows she is. “What about?” She thinks back, it couldn’t have been when she sparred with Nessa, they were _supposed_ to use their powers. Or the book she’d accidentally torn apart—she’d already had that particular disappointed talk.

“According to them you’ve been faster than you should be, one of them claims that she saw you flying?” Uncle Sasha’s settled himself against _madrya_ , but that doesn’t stop him from sounding dangerous.

“That was a game I was playing with Nessa, Ivan, and Elizaveta. It wasn’t even my idea.” It’d been fun though, trying to keep yourself balanced while the other three did their best to keep you aloft. She does find herself relaxing some, now that she knows the accusations. “And it’s not _merzost_.” She’s only done it once, with strict supervision—Kostya too, so they’d both know what it felt like—but never since, and what they’re talking about certainly isn’t what they fear. “It’s just...a novel way of using my abilities.”

It earns her a raised eyebrow from _madrya_. “How so?”

Another frown, because she’s never actually had to _describe_ it to anyone, only ever _done_ it, and the way it was described to _her_ wouldn’t work in this case—nevermind what she promised. “It’s...instead of controlling the air _around_ me, I...do it inside me.”

Uncle Sasha’s gray eyes are appraising. “Novel indeed.”

“How did you figure it out?” _Madrya_ asks.

“I was sparring with Elin,” she lies with a shrug. “And I just...found myself focusing on my breathing, and I found I could feel it moving around inside me, so I just…” she lets herself drift off. Adding too many details would make it easier to pick apart, better to just leave it at that.

Stasya owed her _big_ , not that her sister would quite understand it. Rasia could’ve told the truth after all, how she’d found her sister trying to scale the walls of the Little Palace, eyes glowing like corpse light. After agreeing not to tell, she’d learned how to channel, as Stasya had called it. The basics might have been the same, although the application was different considering their disparate powers.

It’s been one of the most useful things Rasia’s ever learned however, knowing full well that the best way to not get caught was to not be there in the first place.

“Perhaps I should ask Zoya to oversee your training,” _madrya_ sounds like she’s talking to herself more than to Rasia.

Uncle Sasha snorts. “Sounds more like you’re punishing her than making sure she’s safe.” The comment earns him a swat. Rasia knows the court gossips, this isn’t normal after all, but Rasia also thinks they can all go rot.

“No, I mean...I want that.” Zoya’s a _legend_ , to actually be _trained_ by her? It would be worth all the black looks her fellow Squallers will likely give her. Nevermind that Zoya wouldn’t go easy on her.

“I’ll talk to her,” _madrya_ says. “It’s up to her if she’d be willing to take you on.” _Madrya_ raises a finger. “And don’t try to do anything to convince her, you know it won’t work.”

Rasia nods.

“And the next time you think of something... _new_ , tell your teachers,” she admonishes.”New ideas are good, but there can be dangers you don’t know about.” Temptations too, Rasia’s sure. _Merzost_ so easily within reach.

Standing, Rasia curtsies. “Yes, _madrya_.” Going over she kisses her mother on the cheek. “May I go?”

 _Madrya_ nods. “And think about what you could have done better.”

Rasia always does. She wants to be queen after all.

When she enters the room where she and Kostya take their lessons her brother shoots her a forlorn look, while Ahlgren stops his lecture to raise an eyebrow.

“Sorry, sir.” She takes her seat. “The queen wished to speak with me.” 

Ahlgren looks a little sour, well more sour than usual, but then starts speaking again.

Rasia pays attention, she wouldn’t let herself do otherwise. But as always the back of her mind is working, working, working. _Madrya_ was right that she should have told them earlier what she’d ‘discovered,’ but Rasia also enjoyed keeping secrets, and this one had been too interesting to share just yet.

It’s out now thought, and she’s sure she’s going to have to talk about it more and more as her teachers try to understand what she’s learned to do, and how best to teach it to everyone else.

Not that Rasia has any ideas herself, teaching is not her strong suit. Not that it needs to be, but perhaps she should learn; one never knew what skills might come in handy in the future, as father said.

Ahlgren turns his back to them to write something on the chalkboard and she feels a slip of paper move under her hand. _Well?_ the note from her brother reads.

 _My teachers noticed more than I thought they did_ , she writes on the other side of the scrap of paper. Sending it over to Kostya with a puff of air. He rolls his eyes at the action, but he’s just jealous, it’s not her fault that her powers are more useful in the classroom.

On and on Ahlgren drones, covering everything from economics to decorum. Finally though the clock chimes the fourth hour and she and Kostya grab their things and hurry away. There’s still a few hours until dinner, and while they have class work to do, there’s adventure to be had first.

A short while later they’ve snuck out of the whole palace complex. Dressed plainly no one gives them a second look as they travel through the wide boulevards that made up the dream city to the markets of Os Alta surrounding it. 

It’s always something of a thrill to escape the palace and be around people who don’t care who they are. She and Kostya are always good about making sure no one sees them leave, but she’s fairly sure their father knows what they get up to. That he doesn’t try to stop them is all the approval she needs.

“Come on,” Kostya tugs her towards The Blind Hawk, a tavern they’ve visited many times before.

She tugs back. “No,” she says. “You just want to see Lukas anyways.” He’s not half as much as podge as Igor, but that doesn’t mean she thinks him worthy of her brother. Who can kiss whomever he wants, but also needs to think about appearances a little more.

Granted as it stands Rasia’ll need to find a man she can stand if there are going to be any heirs to inherit eventually. There’s a chance she’ll get lucky and Kostya will fall head over heels for a man who can give birth, but as it stands it’s not likely. At least no one in the classes he _should_ marry.

Him kissing peasant boys certainly isn’t helping her in the least. But that’s her brother. Perhaps after he’s done his military service she can convince him to abdicate and run off somewhere, perhaps to join Sturmhond’s crew—maybe even in time he’ll inherit the title from her, that’d make father proud.

Granted their family _does_ have a habit of indulging scandal, uncle Sasha being the latest, and perhaps most blatant. 

Maybe Stasya has the right of it to only deal with dead people, at least they did what you wanted them to. 

“You’re no fun,” Kostya’s voice pulls her from her musings. “Anyways I thought you wanted to sing.”

“Later,” she amends. Singing is perhaps the least practical application of channeling, but she enjoys it. It’s perhaps the only thing she does more in Os Alta than she does at either palace. “I want to get waffles first.”

Kostya rolls his eyes, but he lets her pull her towards one of the many market squares. “We can have waffles at home,” he gripes however.

“They’re not as good and you know it,” she responds tartly. “Too many jellies.” Perhaps they could petition father to hire a new head chef, it would certainly be an interesting discussion.

He doesn’t say anything, which is about how she knows she’s ‘won’ as it were. They both duck their heads as they pass a church dedicated to Sankta Alina the Mother, they’ve passed it enough times that she doesn't even need to look to see the mural painted on this particular wall: Sankta Alina sitting under a tree, on either side sits Rasia and Kostya as children, and she holds little Stasya in her arms—which is how you knew the mural is old—and curled up at her feet, a formless shadow.

“Still creeps me out,” Kostya mutters, turning his head when an initiate steps out a side door. She follows suit a moment later. They’ve grown since their likeness were painted, but she doesn’t doubt they’d be recognized if they lingered too long.

Rasia wouldn’t say it’s creepy, just unsettling. _Madrya’s_ just... _madrya_. She might be the most powerful Grisha alive, but that didn't make her a saint like everyone claimed. Even if she had stopped trying to disabuse people of certain notions— _“I’m_ _learning from your father,”_ she’d once joked.

Past the church they finally reach the best waffle stand in all of Os Alta, the smells of toasted batter and apple butter luring her in. 

Only a few minutes later they’ve found a spot on the rim of the fountain, watching the people around them as they happily began eating—it’s messy work, eating with your hands, but Rasia finds she doesn't care.

“Soon we’re not going to be able to do this anymore.” As if to make Kostya’s words more ominous a cold wind slices through the square, even she burrows into her thick coat.

She doesn’t say anything in response, what can she say? He’s right after all. Come spring he’ll be starting his service in the army, and in the fall she’s likely to get her own posting—like every other Squaller it’ll be six months on a skiff, six months on a ship. Licking apple butter from her hands she sighs. “Things weren’t going to stay the same forever.” Even if they didn’t do military service, marriage is another inevitability.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

A shrug. “Have to do a lot of things we don’t like, this isn’t anything new.” She wipes her fingers off on her pants. “Anyways, you still have choices. Probably a bit too late for you to become a monk,” Kostya sniggers. “Maybe you’ll do well as a soldier, maybe you’ll run away and become a pirate.” Perhaps not the smoothest way to bring up the idea, but it’s also her brother.

“Privateer,” he corrects with the same amused sharpness of their father. “Anyways, I’d be afraid I’d get sea sick and vomit over the side, no one would respect me then.” Fair point. “I guess,” he sighs. “There’s not much else to do, but _do_ it.”

“And seek out the next opportunity,” she finishes. Standing she tugs on his arm. “Come on, you being gloomy is depressing.” He goes without protest, and together they walk towards The Blind Hawk.

The bartender grins when he sees them, and the band in the corner give a triumphant trill when she leaps up to join them. It’s easy enough to control the air inside her and around her as she begins to sing, an old folk song that band quickly joins in on, the patrons tapping their feet and cheering. Her voice gaining a clarity and ring to it that it usually lacked.

She leaps from song to song like a salmon, grinning whenever the whole tavern joins in. It’s a different sort of rush from doing well in classes, or managing a plan perfectly, but she loves it all the same. Loves it enough that she doesn’t even care when Kostya gets pulled into a corner by Lukas.

-

It’s easy enough for Stanislava to escape from the clutches of her nanny after her lessons are done, all Stanislava has to do is wait for her to fall into a conversation with someone. The woman getting so caught up in it that it’s easy to slip away.

Nanny will be mad that Stanislava got away again, but she doesn’t understand why. Raya and Kostya leave all the time, no one gets mad at _them_.

She and Malenchki breath like dragons again when they get out onto the grounds. Anastasia and Shadow join them and she laughs as they dance and play around her, snow beginning to fall from the sky. 

Eventually they move from the Grand Palace to the Little, unlike her though all the other Grisha are still at afternoon classes. If she wanted to she could climb the Little Palace again and watch the other Corporalki students through the windows.

Instead she leads the wolves down to the lake, laughing when Shadow rushes right into the water, Anastasia yelping when her brother gets cold water all over her too. Malenchki stays close to her as always; papa said he knew he had to look after Stanislava and took the job very seriously. She scratches behind his ears and hugs him.

Snow keeps falling and she can feel the cold of it even through her kefta, although it’s not the deepest cold she feels. She hadn’t been lying to Kostya when she said there were cold places all over the Little Palace, there were many in the Grand Palace too, but never as strong. So many impressions of death, and all she had to do was reach out to use them.

She doesn’t do it often, no one would understand, except Auntie Nina, even then Stanislava knows it’s not the same.

Murmurs dance along the edge of her hearing as she walks around the lake, soon overwhelmed by living voices as she reaches the summoner pavilions. She turns away before anyone can see her, only Malenchki following as she heads into the woods.

There are fewer murmurs here, the siege of Os Alta hadn’t extended this far.

Reaching the empty hut she peers inside as if something might jump out at her. Malenchki growls, and a family of badgers nearly bowl her over. Gently she raps Malenchki on the nose. “That was mean.” Mama gave Stanislava rules after all, one of them was to not hurt animals, not unless they were trying to hurt her first. Malenchki should follow the same rules.

He licks her cheek. “Apology accepted,” she buries her finger into his ruff.

The hut becoming uninteresting, Stanislava leads Malenchki deeper into the woods, to one of her favorite spots. The snow’s falling faster now, and even knowing she should head inside Stanislava wants to say hello first.

The little clearing never changes, except with the seasons. Under her fingers the stone and metal of the headstone feels cold, but not as cold as the stillness around her. The good part about coming here is that if she needs to find her way back, she can. All she needs to do is follow the thin line of cold from here to mama and she’ll be safe as can be.

“Hello,” she brushes snow off the top of the headstone.

Malyen doesn’t respond, he never does. That’s part of why she likes it here, unlike most of the cold places he doesn’t want anything from her.

“Hello to you too, little one.” It’s a woman’s voice, strong, and sharp.

Stanislava whirls around with a gasp. Next to her Malenchki turns as well. Staring at the woman as much as Stanislava does.

The woman is _old_ , wrinkles carved deep into a face as sharp as her voice. Her black hair has streaks of gray in it, and is long enough to be pulled away from her face. Making it hard not to focus on the fact that where the woman’s eyes should be there’s only pits of vast darkness.

“Who might you be then? Hmm?” The woman’s voice cracks Stanislava out of her gaping. “Well? Are you going to answer?”

“I’m a princess,” Stanislava draws herself up to her full height. Next to her Malenchki only watches, if he were growling she’d know the woman is dangerous. “And a Grisha, and I’m a very loud screamer with a very protective wolf.” Perhaps it would have been better for Stanislava to give the woman her name, except… “Are you a Khitka?” She doesn’t _look_ like she might be, but Khitka could look like whatever they wanted to.

The woman snorts. “No, girl, I’m not.” She thumps her walking stick against the ground, the sound muffled by the snow. “What kind of Grisha then, hm? They must feel smug to have a princess among their ranks?”

“Corporalki,” she answers. It’s the only answer she _can_ give. Once she overheard Auntie Nina talking to miss Hanne, that the only reason they haven’t named what she and Stanislava can do is because they can’t think of anything terrifying enough—which was always followed by ‘well Kaz could, if anyone thought to ask him.’ Stanislava doesn’t bother to ask what ‘smug’ is supposed to be, she knows the woman will only laugh that she doesn’t know herself. “I’m not the only royal Grisha though.”

“Hmph, is that so? There must be one _otkazat’sya_ among you, otherwise the whole court would be having fits, a Grisha ruling them? Feh.”

Stanislava giggles. “No,” she finally answers. “Kostya’s an Alkemi and Raya’s a Squaller.” She doesn’t know why that would make people unhappy. “Uncle Kolya sometimes says that he, mama, and papa should try for the rest, but mama always threatens to break his nose when he does. Papa laughs though.” Stanislava frowns. “I don’t know why he thinks it’s funny.” She’d quite like not being the youngest anymore.

Another snort from the woman. “I see things have changed greatly since I was last here.” The woman comes closer, and Malenchki stands but doesn’t growl. “I think you should come with me girl, it’s getting cold out.”

Stanislava steps closer to Malenchki, wishing Anastasia and Shadow were here too. “No,” she says. “I can find my own way back to the palace.” Just follow the cold. “I can take you there,” she offers. She has her rules, knows how to be ‘polite.’

The woman comes closer, her fingers closing around Stanislava’s wrist. “You will come with me, girl. It’s for you own good.”

Being touched by the woman feels like being touched by papa, an endless rush that scares her. “No!” She shouts, trying to tug her wrist free. Around them cold swirls and whispers begin in her ear, but no, not yet. Not if she can help it.

Malenchki growls now, leaping at the woman. Who flicks her other wrist, shadows batting him aside with ease.

“Malenchki!” Stanislava throws herself open. Too far, the woman’s touch pushing her past where she usually stops. Everything inside Stanislava stills, cold suffusing her being, cold enough that even the woman hisses and releases her. Which would be enough for Stanislava, except she can’t escape the cold now, and Malenchki’s still trapped in shadows.

Once she’d told papa that the only difference between a living person and a dead person was how much noise they made. He’d looked at her for a long moment before agreeing, only to add that sometimes not even that could tell you whether someone was alive or dead. She didn’t understand what he meant, until now.

For she is silent, but still alive.

“Leave her be Baghra,” it’s not her own voice that leaves her, but a man’s, if one slightly distorted. “I won’t let you take her.”

Baghra tilts her head, a little frown crossing her face. “I recall you dying Tracker, though I will admit this is quite the trick. Why you would care for this girl, if you are somehow alive, is quite the self-sacrifice. I thought you loved our little Saint,” Baghra’s lips curl into a sneer. “Yet here you are, defending her child with my monstrous son. The people might call her a Saint, but I do fear she’s become as much as monster as he.”

“No!” Stanislava’s voice cracks as she stomps her foot. “You take that back!” Mama and papa weren’t monsters, if they were _she’d_ be a monster too, and she’s not! Mama was also a Saint, Saints couldn’t be monsters. Around them the air grows colder, the snow turning icy.

“Let Malenchki go,” Malyen’s voice speaks through her again. “Let _her_ go. I do hate your son, but that’s no reason to twist the girl for another plot of yours. You raised your son with too much pride, I’d hate to see what you’d do to her.” Next to Stanislava the earth trembles, Malyen’s bones willing to rise at her command.

“I can stop your heart.” Stanislava’s taken classes with both Heartrenders and Healers, even if her teachers don’t know what to do with her. In the cold like this she can do anything she wants.

It’s why she doesn’t let it in, if she stayed here all the time she really _would_ be a monster. Better to be alive and incomplete than still as death and perfect.

A hissing breath leaves Baghra. “I won’t ask again child, come with me. I only seek to help Ravka, save it from itself.” The woman doesn’t try to approach again however. “This will be for your own good,” she repeats.

“Leave Baghra,” Malyen sounds tired. “Leave, or we’ll stop you.”

“When you’re older, girl, you’ll look back on this day and regret that you didn’t do as you were told.”

The shadows uncurl around Malenchki, who rushes to her side, sniffing her over. When he’s sure she’s safe he turns to the woman’s retreating back and snarls. He’s too well trained to leave Stanislava’s side however.

She buries her fingers in his fur and makes herself breath again, the sure warmth of him helping to push the cold out, to make her herself again. There are other things that pull her back too, memories of mama, and papa, Raya and Kostya, uncle Kolya. The taste of apricot tarts, the smell of quince blossoms, the satisfied curiosity she always feels during dissections.

The cold slips away, Malyen with it.

Trembling she holds on to Malenchki for a few more minutes, hiccuping breaths leaving her as she cries. He licks her tears, trying to comfort her in his own way. Eventually she’s recovered enough to have the sense of mind to curtsy at Malyen’s grave. “Thank you.”

 _Of course,_ _be safe_.

A nod is all the response she gives. She and Malenchki all but run back to the palace, Stanislava not wanting to give the woman a chance to change her mind and just take her. Everyone would be worried, and she doesn’t want that.

They barrel through one of the servant entrances, making a few maids shriek in surprise. “Sorry!’ Stanislava calls out as they continue to rush. It’s likely long past the start of dinner, she’s never been the late one before. Papa and mama will ask questions, Stanislava knows she can’t lie convincingly enough to hide what happened.

Up the stairs towards the royal hall, down to the left and…

“Woah there.”

Stanislava yelps as she runs into long legs, falling over onto her bottom. Rubbing her nose she looks up. “Uncle Kolya!”

“Stasya,” he smiles at her. “Glad to know I’m not the only one late to dinner.” He winks.

Malenchki helps her up and she has to keep up a good trot to keep up with uncle Kolya’s long legs. “Mama’s gonna be mad.” Sometimes it can’t be helped with uncle Kolya, because he’s the king, but mama likes them all having dinner together.

Uncle Kolya gives a solemn nod, gloved hand reaching out to ruffle her hair. “That she will be, but I’ll gladly take the fall,” he says it in a funny way that Stanislava doesn’t quite get.

“Okay,” she answers. Knowing she doesn’t get whatever he’s trying to really say, but happy that he’ll take the blame for the both of them being late. “Did you see it’s snowing outside?” Even with Baghra, Stanislava’d enjoyed her time outside; snow’d always been her favorite.

“I did.” He gets that twinkle in his eye that promises fun. “Do you think we could convince everyone else to come outside after we eat? Perhaps there could be a snowball fight, hm?”

Stanislava feels a grin break across her face. “Yeah!”

“Good,” he gives another nod. “We have our plan, now are you ready?”

“No, I’m hungry,” she counters.

Uncle Kolya laughs for some reason. A sunny sound that carries the both of them into the royal chambers and into the company of their family.

Perhaps some day she’ll tell her parents what happened, but for now Stanislva’s happy to get lost in conversation with the people who really care about her.

**Author's Note:**

> ...there might be a longer sequel in the works...the kids aren't quite done with me I think. We'll see though.


End file.
